


Feint

by eris



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 06:39:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2418794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eris/pseuds/eris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kenma never feels like doing anything, but it's not really hard to talk him into things, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feint

Kuroo's sixteen and Kenma's fifteen and social obligations are such a bother; Kuroo doesn't make weekend plans unless they involve catnapping on Kenma's floor.

It's Sunday, so there's no practice and no school and it's _hot_ , another in what feels like an endless series of record-breaking highs for mid-September. Kuroo knows he won't coax Kenma outdoors to practise, so he pours himself a glass of cold tea from Kenma's fridge, falls into a wordless sprawl near Kenma's bed, and waits to be acknowledged with a peculiar sort of serenity born less of patience than of long familiarity. The afternoon sun is merciless, lancing Kenma's floor through the gaps in his curtains, but everything still feels somehow desaturated: a slow-motion fade through which Kuroo watches the juddering shadows cast by Kenma's electric fan, watches the trickle of condensation down the sides of his glass, watches Kenma's callused thumbs tap at the handheld console from which he hasn't looked up even once. Kenma hasn't even bothered to dress yet; he's leaning back on his pillow in a grey tee and boxer shorts, as wilfully washed-out as the room, hair lank on his forehead and bedsheets in a disarray underneath him. Kenma's never coped well with summer, though, or this sluggish late-season humidity; weather of any kind, in general, seems offend Kenma's essential nature.

"Isn't it rude to invite yourself in?" Kenma asks, eventually. His voice is soft, disinterested, but he must have reached a save point, because his gaze wanders from the screen to Kuroo's face, then seems to settle without any particular focus just slightly to his left. His face is shadowed still, the light angled so that it crosses his bare feet and limns his curling toes.

"Yo," Kuroo says in reply, because he can't even remember the last time Kenma actually invited him in. Kenma's parents won't be home for hours and Kenma doesn't answer the door unless he's expecting a delivery. Kuroo's known where he hides the key since he was nine years old. "Wanna toss for me a while?"

As expected, Kenma's answer is to turn back to his game. "Too hot." The words are clipped with a hint of petulance. "It's ridiculous. Shouldn't the seasons be changing already?"

"You're like an old man," Kuroo says fondly, but Kenma's not listening anymore. Already he's playing in earnest, eyes narrowed, lips pressed with renewed concentration. The intermittent breeze from the fan teases at strands of his hair, but he doesn't bother to swat it back into place.

It could be hours before he tires of the game again.

Kuroo could probably provoke a conversation, if he wanted to, but he doesn't have anything to say, and he doesn't like empty chatter any more than Kenma does. Rather, he's come to find something obscurely satisfying in being ignored: for Kenma, who never stops noticing everyone around him, to have deemed Kuroo's presence unworthy of his attention is, if not quite a compliment, certainly a rare admission of intimacy.

It doesn't relax him, though.

Kenma's curtains flutter sullenly. Between them, half-hearted clouds loll across a sky more white than blue. Kuroo lies back and shuts his eyes and tries to forget the thick press of the heat long enough to sleep. The faint cries of cicadas still reach him through the cracked window, far enough away to be less annoying than atmospheric. The electric fan, too, makes a soothing background hum in the room, and the game console's muted because even in private Kenma makes little noise--but the ceaseless click of game buttons won't let Kuroo drift away. Minutes pass in a haze while Kuroo stares at the red backs of his eyelids and tries to see nothing but darkness, but it's already a lost cause. He can't even slow down his breathing.

It's like this too often, lately: there's nothing Kuroo wants to say, but when he tries to sink into the old comfortable lull between them he just feels sticky and increasingly restless and he can't get these after-images out of his head, yet. He has only himself to blame; Kenma is quiet, content, inexorably himself, and everything in Kenma's room is unremarkably pale, yet it's still like a flashbulb has burned Kuroo's retinas with an impression of Kenma's frown, his fingers, his stupid sleep-mussed fringe.

And the truth is, Kuroo's always _liked_ summer, almost as much as Kenma hates it. Longer days mean they can practise even later, and Kenma talks slightly more than usual when they're alone (if only to complain), and he likes the way the reddish patch of sunburn on the crests of Kenma's cheeks makes him look like he's flushed, embarrassed, hot. Kenma's had a sunburn since their practice session in Yokohama. Kuroo's been thinking about it a lot. He's thinking about it _now_ and his palms are sweating at his sides; his mouth is dry again. It'd be so very easy--

"Hey," Kuroo says, pitched just loud enough to hear over the fan. It's suddenly important that Kenma hears it. It's suddenly very important Kenma's aware of his presence like he's intensely aware of Kenma's, knees up and toes curled and not even two metres away. Kuroo's pulse is thrumming louder in his ears, but he can still hear the tapping of Kenma's PSP. It never slows, but Kuroo's interruption is unusual enough that Kenma makes a little noise, something like an _mmm_?

Kuroo opens his eyes, but only to stare at the ceiling, testing the sudden weird rush in his head. "Just wondering," he murmurs, and a shudder sweeps from the back of his neck to his shoulders, all the way down his spine, but now that he's thought the words he's trapped by their momentum; he can't stop himself anymore. "Have you ever kissed anyone?"

It's an ambush in every conceivable way. While surely a common topic for boys at their age, it's also the sort of thing he and Kenma have never, ever discussed. Kenma's huffed exhalation might have an edge of betrayal to it, but some reckless and rapidly-expanding place in Kuroo's chest feels perversely satisfied. He's still a little dizzy with it but he levers himself up on his elbow, greedy for every inscrutable flicker of expression playing across Kenma's face. "Um," Kenma is mumbling to the game screen, and his thumbs do pause over the buttons, but only for moment. "Why would I have done that? Also why would you need to know."

Kuroo swallows, tries to wet his lips a little. Beneath the surge of adrenalin something feels strangely tender, like an unexpected bruise; he's had a lot of bruises, though. It's not hard to ignore. "Isn't it normal to ask?"

"...do you get all of your ideas from television?"

Kuroo opens his mouth to reply but then he forgets to actually say anything: Kenma's looking up properly now. Kenma's eyes are moving over Kuroo's face now, searching out an explanation, making his analysis, and Kuroo's spine shivers again under the scrutiny, but it's--

It's _good_. He feels his own lips curling in a slow and crooked smile. "I was thinking...."

Kenma hasn't blinked, and for a fraction of a second Kuroo hesitates (it's _Kenma_ ), but discretion's never been his strongest suit, and he doesn't believe in leaving things half-done. Kuroo lets a shrug roll through his shoulders, something languid and easy, but he's curling his fingers into fists so they won't shake while Kenma's watching. Kenma doesn't watch him very often outside of games, but when Kenma looks he never misses _anything_.

Kuroo's stomach tightens but it's not unpleasant in the slightest. "You know. Thinking that it wouldn't be so bad, to try it out."

Kenma's eyes are wide but sharp, his expression opaque as ever. "Try," he says, and Kuroo draws in a breath and holds it while Kenma shapes the words as slowly and deliberately as if they were a foreign language, "...what out, exactly? Are you still talking about kissing?"

Kuroo exhales all in a rush and then he's up on his knees in an instant, forearms pressing into Kenma's mattress, his entire body buzzing with the anticipation. Kenma doesn't move at all except to blink at him--he _is_ blinking now, a fast flutter of lashes and then a slower, more questioning one--so Kuroo just breathes out a "yeah," and glances from Kenma's face to the game still clutched in his hands, then back again under heavier eyelids. He's not sure why his eyes feel so heavy when he's never felt more awake. "Yeah," he says again, louder. "Seems like it'd be nice, doesn't it? Kind of... hot, you know?"

Kenma's breath doesn't catch. His stare doesn't waver again and his cheeks are the exact shade they were before Kuroo spoke, but the sunburn still lends them an alluringly ambiguous glow. The only evidence of his bewilderment is in the faint pinch of a frown at his brow. "...not really?"

"Won't know unless we try it, I guess," Kuroo reasons. He knows he's leering now, the sort of theatrics that have never once in their lives impressed Kenma, but it's giving him some place to rally that's not his pulse pounding hard in his chest, the shuddering feeling in his throat that threatens to choke his resolve. His ears feel so hot and his fingers are still twitching and Kenma can't possibly have missed a single detail. Kenma's eyes are darker now, and for the briefest instant, so quick Kuroo could almost have missed it, Kenma's tongue slips out, swipes across his chapped lips and retreats, not even long enough to wet them.

Something flips in Kuroo's chest. Between one breath and the next he's taken the console from Kenma's loose grip, tossed it somewhere near the foot of the bed, maybe down to the floor; he doesn't look, doesn't care. Kenma opens his mouth but he doesn't say anything. His heels slip down the sheets so that his legs lie flat, and his empty hands fall to his sides rather than his lap, leaving his posture strangely open. Kenma's still just _staring_ , right into Kuroo's eyes, expectant, and Kuroo's already harder than he's ever been in his _life_. His cock is throbbing in his shorts, just with the _idea_ \--

Kuroo says, "I'm gonna--" but it's too hard to talk when his head feels like this, spinning and light, like he's poised at the edge of a free-fall.

The mattress dips under Kuroo's weight, creaks a soft protest when he crawls in closer still, straddles Kenma's outstretched legs with his thighs. It's too hot for this, he can already feel a trickle of sweat down his temples, but he concentrates on his breathing, inhaling and exhaling and sinking into the humid proximity. Kenma's lips look rough and dry up close; Kenma eyes have gone a little less focused in the shadow of Kuroo leaning in. Kuroo touches the side of his face with one shaking hand, pressing a thumb into his jaw to tilt it a little, and Kenma goes so easily it's too much to think about taking this any slower. Kuroo shuts his own eyes and closes the distance in an instant, slides his tongue between Kenma's parting lips and licks right into his mouth, slick and warm.

He's thought about this before. He's thought about kissing Kenma and he's jerked off to a perfect mental picture of his wide-eyed indifferent stare, but it's still--

His tongue feels so clumsy, their lips already too wet with spit, but somehow Kuroo's never dared to think past the approach. He's only ever lingered on the thrill of the possibility, so there's no basis for comparison, no fantasy, just Kenma's soft mouth and Kenma's small hands finding their way up Kuroo's chest. Kenma doesn't grab on, only rests his wrists on Kuroo's shoulders, fingers curling into loose fists when Kuroo swallows down his own noise of approval. And Kuroo would've got it all wrong if he had followed through, because Kenma's moving more than Kuroo could ever have imagined he would, tongue flicking across teeth, hesitant at first and then stroking deeper, as though he's taking the opportunity to satisfy any number of small curiosities. He falls into Kuroo's pace soon enough, though--exactly the way he always has, and strictly speaking it's not actually Kuroo's first kiss, but he's kissing _Kenma_ \--Kenma's kissing _back_ \--

The tension starts to leave Kuroo's shoulders, draining into the heat trapped between them. He tugs on Kenma's lip with his teeth, because he can, because he wants to know what will happen, but the noises Kenma makes are less like discrete reactions and more like a strange ongoing hum. Kuroo feels it all down his spine, feels so boneless and hungry, head swimming in thoughts of pressing closer, bare skin, of getting his hand on Kenma's dick. Kenma's mouth--

Kenma turns his face to the side. Kuroo's mouth brushes wet across his chin, his jaw, and he wants to follow further, to taste Kenma's damp throat--but it's not an invitation. It's a deliberate separation, a deliberate pause, so Kuroo opens his eyes and leans back.

Kenma isn't looking at him anymore. Kuroo wants so badly to push forward, but he doesn't move a muscle, because Kenma's looking away, lips swollen so red, and Kenma's about to say something. Kenma could say _anything_.

It's suddenly hard to breathe.

Kenma says, "Kuro," and Kuroo can feel the vibration of the word in his chest, such a small thing shaking him hard, fissuring his thoughts until he's frozen in place thinking nothing, just a blank white expanse of waiting. He can't move and he can't breathe because he might be in love and this was stupid. He's so fucking stupid.

Kenma's eyes are still lowered, glancing sideways where there's nothing to glance at. "My neck's getting cramped," he says in a small voice, the kind of awkward uncertain voice he doesn't usually use with Kuroo, but he's starting to wriggle oddly, and all at once Kuroo realises he's trying to slide under Kuroo's legs, to _lie down_ , and that he hasn't let go of Kuroo's shoulders so he's going to pull Kuroo down with him.

Kuroo doesn't care about breathing, after that.

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally meant to have several parts (hence the annoying fade-to-black), but I guess I'm putting it here because now I'm not sure whether I'll continue or just make something new out of the rest. anyway, special thanks to the twitter gang for being so very kind, or I'd probably have buried it all under a rock. somehow my intense love for haikyuu makes me too anxious to post fic for haikyuu, ha ha.


End file.
